


The Kindness of Strangers

by darlathecyborgpluviophile



Category: Final Fantasy IX, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dream Sequences, Episode Prompto Spoilers, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, POV Third Person, chapter 13 spoilers, hey look it's my fave tag again, platonic cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 05:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16258070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlathecyborgpluviophile/pseuds/darlathecyborgpluviophile
Summary: A little guy’s standing there, the tip of his wide-brimmed hat brushing against his thighs. His clothing is colorful but all mismatched—he’s not dressed like a hunter or a soldier, else he’d be daemon food immediately—and his eyes are a brighter gold than even the lights coming out of the huts.Maybe it’s just the darkness of the night, but try as he might, Prompto can’t find a face.“Are you human?” the creature asks.





	The Kindness of Strangers

Prompto doesn’t recognize where he is.

It’s a forest, that’s for certain. The place is dense, with more trees than any other forest he’s ever been in, even while camping in Duscae. The green envelops him all around, shadowing the sky overhead. The dirt around him smells rich and wet, as if it’s just rained.

It’s beautiful.

If only he knew how he got here; every time he tries to remember, his mind strays from that mental path, choosing to wander off in brighter directions. He reaches for his gun only to find it’s not there, and panic spreads through his system like fast-acting poison.

In an effort to take his mind off of this…whatever this situation is, Prompto picks a direction and starts walking.

The woods don’t get any thinner. When he’s not tripping over twisted roots and fallen logs, his boots are getting stuck in the thick mud that masquerades as normal, packed dirt around here. The air is heavy with the scent of pine and a dozen another things he couldn’t hope to name—if Gladio were here, he’d be able to pick out and expound upon each one. As it stands, though, it’s a soothing smell.

It gets even better when smoke from a lingering fire joins in. That’s comforting. Maybe that’s proof he wandered off from tonight’s campsite in search of a pool to wash in or something, and simply…nodded off.

Suddenly, there’s spots of yellow light shining through the trees up ahead, enough that he hastens toward it. The smoke’s coming from there too, so if they’re not staying at a campsite, maybe a caravan on the edge of some mini-mart property?

But that’s not what’s there at all.

On the other side of the woods—or maybe at their heart, he’s not entirely sure—there’s a village unlike any he’s ever seen before.

A collection of tiny, thatched-roof huts stand before him, all of them pulled together from sticks and straw and mismatched wood. There’s fences, and gardens, and what looks like boardwalks wrapping around all the different cottages. Not too many of the lights are on, but the ones that are, the ones he saw through the trees, are golden and soft and spill out of every wooden nook and cranny.

He takes a step further into the village, trying to work up the courage to ask just where this place is, when there’s a tugging at the tartan portion of his vest.

Prompto looks down, and stares.

A little guy’s standing there, the tip of his wide-brimmed hat brushing against his thighs. His clothing is colorful but all mismatched—he’s not dressed like a hunter or a soldier, else he’d be daemon food immediately—and his eyes are a brighter gold than even the lights coming out of the huts.

Maybe it’s just the darkness of the night, but try as he might, Prompto can’t find a face.

“Are you human?” the creature asks. He sounds like a kid.

Prompto opens his mouth to respond, but gets a flash of memory instead—sitting on his bed the morning of his first day in high school, thumbing over the precise lines of black in his wrist before sliding his wristband on and slipping out the front door.

“Um,” he starts, finding his voice. “I…don’t know.”

 

 

 

Prompto sits in a chair at the little village’s Inn, a thick comforter wrapped around his shoulders. The kid pulled it off one of the beds in the next room over—a task he managed admirably despite the thing being awkward and long and twice his size—before disappearing elsewhere into the village, promising to return.

He looks down at his hands, clenching and unclenching; a nervous habit. The black wristband he had concealing his barcode is missing, and he doesn’t know for how long. Again he tries to search his recent memories—he closes his eyes and wills himself to remember, but the mental fog is too thick to get anything more than vague impressions.

 _Clomp, clomp, clomp,_ come boots into the room. When Prompto opens his eyes and looks, those boots look way too big for a kid of that stature—not that he seems to notice.

A steaming mug of something is put down on the table in front of him, and another just across while the kid climbs into the opposite chair. Prompto curls his hands around the sides and sucks in the warmth. Peering inside, he finds a creamy liquid, not quite brown.

“This tea?” he asks. Gods, his voice is cracking easily today, almost like he’s been overusing it.

The kid shakes his head, and—wait, does he even _have_ a head? Even in the light, all he can see is the giant yellow eyes and then darkness, stretching all around underneath the brim of his-ever present hat.

“Milk, sugar, and spices. My grandpa taught me.”

Prompto nods, and takes a sip. The drink is creamy and sweet and so comforting. Tears spring to his eyes with the realization of just how much he misses Ignis’s cooking.

“Augh, it’s awesome. Thanks, uh…”

The kid clears his throat. “Oh, uh. I’m Vivi.”

“Vivi, thanks.” He smiles, and takes another sip. “So, uh…where are we?”

Vivi opts to hold his own mug in his gloved hands instead of resting it on the table. “This is the Black Mage Village, on the Outer Continent. Not many humans know about this place, um, so…I’m surprised you found it.”

Prompto laughs a little. “Honestly, I’m not sure how I got here myself.”

“Did you follow the path without owls?” he asks, voice so small and unsteady, yet so fully-formed.

“Uh…no? I just kinda…woke up in the forest.”

“Weird,” Vivi mumbles.

“But, like,” Prompto uncurls his hands from the mug for just a second, to gesticulate, “are we in Lucis? Or Niflheim? Which one’s the Outer Continent?”

“I…don’t know what you’re talking about?” Even without a face, the kid is expressive as all hell. “It’s just…the Outer…Continent. That’s what it’s called. I don’t know if there’s another name…”

The panic that’s been thrumming just beneath his skin ever since he got here spikes, then settles back down again with another sip of the milky drink.

Okay. It’s okay. This kid wouldn’t _hurt_ him, would he?

Prompto’s stomach starts to churn.

“Are you okay?” Vivi asks, eyes wide with concern.

“Fine. I’m—I’m fine.” Prompto shakes his head.

“Oh! Your wrist…”

Prompto seizes his right wrist, almost knocking over his mug in the process.

“It’s nothing!” he squeaks with his hoarse voice. “It’s nothing, I-I’m—“

Vivi’s eyes get impossibly bigger, wide pools of light amidst the sea of black under his brim.

“Did Kuja make _you_ too?”

Emotions go to war in those words—sorrow and curiosity and hope and rage.

Prompto closes his eyes. “I’m…I’m…”

 

 

 

A wind comes through, strong enough to feign it might take the scarecrows with it. The night is starry, and he can’t find any of the constellations Noct taught him about when the trip first started.

If Vivi is to be believed, he really _has_ wound up in a whole new world.

“So they just…stop?” Prompto clarifies again. “Like, that’s it, no build up, or…or growing illness or whatever? You guys can just…not wake up?”

Vivi’s hat bounces as he nods. “We weren’t made to live like people. We were meant to die in battle, so Stopping isn’t supposed to matter.”

“Is that what happened to all the people in this village?”

“No…they’re out living happy lives wherever they want to. He’s dead, and the war’s over so we’re not needed or…hated…anymore.”

“But you’re not hanging out with your buds?”

Vivi smiles wanly. “Someone has to watch the graves.”

Prompto settles his back against the grassy hill behind him. The biggest pointy-hatted scarecrow looms over him.

“Where are _your_ friends?” Vivi asks.

He closes his eyes. Prompto’s mind is still a dense fog, and he gropes his way through it in search of something, anything to hold onto from before he arrived here—

“I think I was…I was separated from them? I can’t remember.” Another gust of night wind blows through, and he shivers. “All I can remember for sure is…cold. It was so cold. And I was _really_ fucking scared.”

He realizes who he’s talking to, and clamps a hand over his mouth. “ _Ohmygods_ , I’m so sorry about that. Guess I just gotta apply Caem rules: no swearing in front of the kids.”

Vivi shrugs. “It’s okay. Zidane and Amarant swear all the time.” Then, there’s a smile in his voice: “But I think I know how to get you warm again.”

 

 

 

Prompto sinks his fingers into the chocobo’s downy feathers before falling to his knees and burying his face in them, too.

“Oh, gods. Gods, that’s nice.” He lets out a whine.

Vivi comes around the other side of the bird with a couple leaves of greens. He sounds genuinely confused when he says, “So wait, you have chocobos in your world too?”

“Oh, hell yeah!” Prompto’s smile is almost delirious when he nuzzles into the sunny feathers. “I _love_ chocobos.”

“His name’s Bobby Corwen.”

Prompto snorts. “Nice name. Mine was Nutmeg. Ignis’s idea, cause I couldn’t decide on just one.”

He has to sit back up when the chocobo gets excited, scarfing down the greens it’s being fed. He lets out an exuberant _kweh!_ before he settles back down in the hay, eagerly encouraging Prompto’s cuddles. At first, Vivi just kneels by the bird’s neck and tends to him with the kind of tender affection Prompto hasn’t borne witness to since before Altissia happened, and it’s nice to see. In this moment, he feels like the kid’s definitely accomplished his goal—he feels pleasantly warm both inside and out.

Over time, he winds up with his back to the bird’s side. He settles, getting comfortable alongside the chocobo—before long, he’s got a wing slung over his shoulder, making Prompto feel even more cozied than before. This is seriously like something out of his happiest daydreams; the only thing that could possibly make it better would be one of his brothers, right there beside him.

They’re not here, in this alien world. But that doesn’t mean Prompto is completely alone.

He opens his eyes for a moment, not having realized that they had fallen shut while he lay here in the chocobo pen. He sees Vivi standing in front of him now, almost still except for the anxious shifting of his weight from foot-to-foot.

“Hey, wassup?” The concern comes out slurred.

“O-oh…”

Vivi looks down at his boots, and really stands still this time. His shoulders slump. He doesn’t even seem to breathe.

Prompto’s chest burns with empathy.

“Hey,” he echoes, softly this time, in the sort of voice he usually reserves for injured animals and late nights with Noct. “Did you wanna come cuddle?”

The instant after he asks, Vivi squeezes his lamp-like eyes shut. There’s nothing but black under his hat now.

“I…I don’t wanna…”

“Dude, don’t even worry about it.” Prompto waves a hand around, as if he could fan the boy’s fear away. “I wouldn’t mind, and I kinda doubt the bird does either.”

He opens his eyes again. “We just met,” he whispers.

“Yeah, but I trust you, man. You’re okay.”

Slowly, oh-so-hesitantly, Vivi takes a step closer.

“There ya go,” Prompto encourages. “Deep breaths and all that jazz.”

Vivi picks the spot on the other side from where the chocobo’s wing curls around, between Prompto’s right arm and the bird’s long neck. The chocobo shifts to accommodate and Prom with him, and Vivi ends up settling between the two of them snugly, like a puzzle piece.

He flinches a little when Vivi wraps around him, grabbing hold of the ends of his vest. He’s not sure why he reacts like that, but it’s not a thought to unravel right now. Prompto’s warm, and he’s sleepy, and he feels _safe_ here, and that’s what really matters.

When the two of them wake, they have a good laugh about how ridiculous the other looks covered in hay and chocobo feathers.

 

 

 

“I have to go back,” Prompto says.

They’re standing just outside the chocobo hut now, heads tilted up towards the oncoming dawn. The wind’s grown strong again, and Vivi must hold down the brim of his hat with both hands to keep it from blowing off his head.

“To find your friends?” he asks, and the question’s so quiet it’s almost swallowed by the sound of rustling trees.

“Yeah. I still don’t know what happened, but…” Prompto shakes his head. “I gotta get back. Noct, Iggy, Gladio…they’re probably worried sick about me.”

He wishes he knew why he’s so convinced of that fact—why every time he thinks about where they might be, it feels like a hand reaching down and squeezing his lungs until he can’t breathe. But the sunrise they’re watching is a reminder of his commitment to the Crown, and to protecting his world from those who might wish to do it harm. One of the last things he _does_ remember is finding out that nights were growing longer—and that could spell the destruction of everyone he loves.

“Um. Do you remember the way you came?” Vivi asks.

He laughs, but there’s little humor in it. “Not really. But I guess I better start walking.”

“Uh, uh, wait!”

Prompto turns like he was planning to anyway—there’s no way he’s going to leave this land without saying goodbye to his new friend.

Vivi casts his eyes off somewhere to the side, looking awkward and uncomfortable. He’s shifting his feet from side-to-side again before he takes a deep breath, stops fidgeting, and focuses entirely on Prompto.

Yellow meets violet-blue, and he says, “It’s not about humanity. No matter what you are, you deserve to live, and you deserve to be loved. You’re important, okay?”

Vivi briefly takes his hand in both of his own, and Prompto kneels to accommodate.

“Can you promise me you’ll remember?”

He nods. “Yeah. Yes. Of course I will.”

Vivi deflates with that confirmation, and lets go. “Okay. Thank you.”

Prompto brushes the soil from his jeans, wipes the tears from his eyes, and echoes the sentiment: “Thanks, Vivi. I hope I get to come back here sometime.”

The kid beams.

 

 

 

(Prompto wakes up to the sounds of distant machinery and boots running down the hallway towards him. His body is exhausted, beaten and messy and every part raw—but his mind feels sound again, for the present moment. Later, he struggles to recall the details of the dream that carried him through the last leg of his imprisonment—remembers nothing except the words _you deserve to live._

And despite everything, he finds he’s still alive a whole decade later.)

**Author's Note:**

> tfw you were meant to be a child solider but were rescued at the last minute and spend the entirety of your game in conflict about who you are now and who you were meant to be and if you really deserve to exist
> 
> yeah that
> 
> twitter: @darlathecyborg


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